Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Good evening,” I call out on my way downstairs. The rooms here are very old, and my grandpa theorized the original owners of the house must have used them to store illegal cargo, maybe even booze during the prohibition era. The walls are whitewashed with something that looks like lime rather than modern paint, but I never cared whether it was aesthetically pleasing before.
It’s quite exciting to share this family secret with Blake.
I hear no answer, so I speed up, walking past the secret craft room where I create festive mementos of my kills. There’s two more chambers down here, but I head straight for Blake’s and knock on the open door as I stare at the Christmas tree I left for him last night.
My worries ease when I hear him shift. “Hello?”
“Hey there, Cookie Monster,” I say with a smile when I notice he went through all ten cookies I left him. My heart beats faster as soon as our eyes meet. “Oh look at this! You’ve been busy.” I point out the long paper chain wrapped around a few of the bars like a snake. “I can’t wait to hang it.”
He offers me a smile and gestures at the tree. “Thank you for the decorations. They’re very nice. They make this place feel… less lonely. Were you at work?”
“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you company. But I made us dinner, and I have more time for you tonight.”
Blake stands between the cot and the bars, tightly wrapped in the blanket. His hair is messy, as if he spent all day resting, but the number of links in the paper chain and the scraps creating a pile in the corner of the cell tell me he’s been busy. The book I left for him, an illustrated edition of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol is resting by the pillow, indicating Blake spent some of his day reading.
“What are we having? More cookies and milk?” my guest asks, licking his lips as his elegant fingers curl around the bars. I lean forward and, in a moment of daring, slide my own over his. He has such soft, beautiful hands!
“No, a whole feast. Turkey, potatoes, veggies, homemade gravy. Do you like wine? I got some red.” I’m aware that he might intend to hurt me. We’re not out of the woods yet, but I’m hoping we can come to an understanding once I convince him that my basement is the safest place for him to be.
He swallows, watching our interlocked hands. “Thank you. That sounds amazing! But I think I might need to freshen up before dinner. You know, shower, use a normal bathroom,” he says, nodding toward the camping toilet I provided for him.
“Yes, of course.” I reluctantly let go of him. Kissing every one of his knuckles has to wait until he’s ready for it. “I don’t usually keep anyone here. That’s why I’m so unprepared. But I brought you some clothes that will hopefully be your size, some toiletries, and I can take you to the shower. You do have to promise to be nice though. Naughty boys don’t get gifts.” I wink at him.
Half a second passes before he lets out a chuckle. “I promise I’m nice. Most of the time,” he adds and winks right back at me.
“Oh, I recall the story of you hiding your brother’s favorite fountain pen and then launching a search, as if you had no idea where it was,” I say, remembering that story from one of his old podcasts.
I watch him as I open the padlock to his cell, but I also doubt he’d attack me with the kid scissors. Those, of course, could do some damage if wielded with enough force, but we can consider this a test.
I step back to make room for him, and I already know he will look cute as a button in the festive pajamas I’ve gotten him. He watches me like a cat entering a new home and appears overall serious, so maybe I should have gone with a more elegant set. On the other hand, he did wear the elf costume when Tooley abducted him, so he must have a sense of fun.
Blake removes the blanket from his shoulders, folds it, and then throws it onto the cot, which leaves him in the sexy costume, exposing his long legs and chest. He’s wary but keeps his head low and his hands to himself, which is a good sign. At this rate, our date might actually work out as planned!
He clears his throat and pulls on the folds of the thin shirt, struggling to cover one of his nipples. “Sorry, I think this size is a bit too small for me,” he says and adjusts his hair with a swipe of fingers.
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure him, but steal a glance at his dark pink nipple anyway.